


Harbor Daze

by Aondeug



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abuse based roleplay sex, Consensual Mind Control, F/F, Non-consensual mind control, Pirate roleplay sex, tentabulge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 16:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aondeug/pseuds/Aondeug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At last the day had come for Aranea and Porrim to act out that pirate roleplay they had planned weeks ago. There are costumes and personas and healthy adherence to SSC. What started as just any other kinky pailing will stay there, right? Team Aranea<3Porrim's entry for HSWC 2013's third main round!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harbor Daze

**Author's Note:**

> The piece was written by myself and edited by Karky and Sinneli. Planning was also done with Sinneli. The theme of this round was taboo.

  
This moment had taken a great deal of planning, some of which you found slightly unnecessary. Still, you suppose, that perhaps this is one sphere where you must concede to Porrim's knowledge. At any rate it brought you to the now, and really, some brief frustration was proving to be quite worth it. Your newest problem is dealing with the shame of it all.  
  
Porrim stands before you, dressed in the silly outfit she had prepared for this earlier along with your own outfit. You can't help but find both a bit ridiculous, but overall you are pleased with things. More than pleased, honestly. It's hard not to be when you are dressed as a pirate, standing before a lowly serving wench you have hired for less than scrupulous services. You must remind yourself that you are not to call her such though.  
  
Her hands are bound behind her and she stands with a stupid grin on her face as always. It's a charming smile and even now you can't say that you're not fond of it. Still it's not at all appropriate, nor is her continued sass: “So I'm quite aware you sea faring types have some particular tastes at times, but I wasn't aware treating the girls they roughly steal away like pretty statues was among them. Or are we just being especially particular before something more racy occurs?”  
  
As you sigh in upset you feel an urge to tell Porrim to keep in character. Sadly, you must admit that this is her character. You'll have to talk to Porrim about the merits of roleplaying someone other than herself at some other point in time. For now you need to give her that her nature does motivate you. “Predictable, you move right to base insults the moment an act of intimacy does not immediately adhere to your simplistic conceptions of the act. I have come to expect little else of the lowblooded fools I purchase the services of. Perhaps this is a sign that I must heighten my standards given your kind's propensity for not even allowing these matters to be simple exchanges,” you ramble out trying not to feel like too much of a dork. There is a dumb grin on your face, you can feel it. It's just so hard to push it away when you're so giddy though. Why you almost forget to check Porrim's mind briefly to make sure you haven't overstepped your boundaries. That's another happy privilege of these moments; she lets you in willingly for safety reasons. It is just so good to know that someone finally understands the use of your powers, at least some of the time. Your reading reveals no disturbance and so you return to looking in admiration at the form in front of you. It's tasteless to be sure, but it fits the scenario and it's not like Porrim isn't terribly attractive. She's annoyingly so if anything.  
  
Porrim is also annoyingly prone to teasing at you with a metaphorical stick. “So I'm supposed to both expect something that isn't raunchy pailing and something that is just that? I think we've arrived at a paradox, dear.” She even adds an additional “I know” mentally for you. One upside to your abilities is that these mental conversations are one way affairs so long as you choose it; she doesn't need to hear you fume embarrassingly, after all.  
  
You also get control one way physically as well. While she is bound, no longer able to truly defend herself you slap her sharply. The sound of your hand striking flesh is quite appealing, as is knowing, in your self satisfied sort of way, that the violence had a point. She wants to smirk, but for the moment it has been wiped from her face. What's more she is silent. Likely only for a time, but it gives you the opportunity to scold her. “I do believe we worked out the issue of how to address me earlier,” you say while resting your hand on your hip once more, “You will not be reminded again in the future, do keep in mind.”  
  
“So I'll just receive a smack at the rate of one per every instance of darling?” she says while quirking a brow in fake surprise, “That's quite generous of you.” You sigh in exasperation, but note that it is keeping with your character. As is brutishly forcing her to relive the pain of the slap mentally. She is not a slave you train over the course of sweeps, she is just some whore (which is another word you cannot use), so grace isn't needed. That pain corrects her thankfully and she adds a deferential “Marquise” to the end of her sentence.  
  
Oh, your grin widens at that and you feel your bulge twitch. The frustrating thing cannot even be patient! Granted, it's nowhere near as eager as Porrim's is. You've noted her complaining inwardly about it long before this precise moment, but this is the first you've been able to notice its writhing underneath her skirt. The squirming is quite distracting and you're annoyed to think that you wanted to rush things for a moment. You pull yourself back though, as you must. Back straightening tightly you confidently (so you hope) remark, “Good girl. Now as darling as you are in your current position it just won't do for much longer.”  
  
Now comes a tough choice. A show of your might physically or psychically? Porrim really could do with some rough treatment for her sass, but forcing her to collapse might be just as effective. What it lacks in overt viciousness it makes up in the reminding that her volition is only hers so long as it is amuses you (as per agreement and consent prior to your play, of course). You go with the latter and send a sharp, overpowering demand that she fall to her knees. Even had this been an unconsecrated to command, it would surely be tough to resist. That is an exciting thought, though an unpleasant one. Your guilt is set aside though when, on cue, Porrim clumsily drops to her knees. She painfully hits the ground and, you note, a wonderful taste of surprise. You've made use of your gift during private moments with her in the past, but she's yet to grow accustomed to it. Both of you are in agreement that that's for the best, albeit for different reasons.  
  
As you smile in satisfaction a part of you panics. God, you said something that might be construed as sexist. In a worry you search her feelings and it must show on your face because she smiles at you reassuringly. “You're doing just fine, Ary.” Just fine. That thought calms you some and so you return to thrusting yourself into the thick of the scenario.  
  
Sneering as best you can you place a hand in her hair. You delicately run your fingers through the locks for a moment, savoring the sensation. The dratted woman really does have nicely kept hair, still that does not stop you from roughly grabbing onto it. You pull upwards, enough to be on the verge of being unpleasantly painful. Her wince pleases you, as does the fervent mental plea for her bulge to just wait. Unconsciously she curls her toes you notice, paying attention even to such automatic impulses. It does nothing to abate her bulge's wriggling and you simply encourage its passions when you say, “Now that I've dutifully reminded you of your position once more, I daresay that we can begin in the matter you earning your pay.”  
  
You ease your hold on her hair for a moment, just long enough to make the next yank account for something. Pulling at her again you urge her, lightly this time, to rest her face against your crotch. She is grinning again, you're sure of it. Porrim is certainly amused mentally as she chatters to herself about how hard it is to not giggle at how fond you are of oral. It's cute apparently. Trying to keep firm hold of your character you let go of her hair and busy your hands with removing your underwear. You push the panties down and still Porrim must sass! “Really, this isn't at all what I had in mind when it came to paradoxical simple, but not simple sex,” she says cheekily.  
  
Annoyed at her (in a good way) you push her away and finish removing your underwear. You make sure it's well out of sight as you watch her push herself back up. It's impressive to watch in a way. As is watching her keep in place. That restraint is commendable, but really it's not the time for it and so you push her psychically to crawl her way to you. She complies thinking it her own choice as you say, “Again I've come to expect nothing less from your kind. The particulars of true trollish culture always seem so far beyond you, and I perish the thought of describing your lots as having even an inkling of culture. I could say the same of dogs, but that wouldn't make it true would it?”  
  
She has reached you and is nuzzling your crotch fondly. It's not entirely appropriate you think, but it's a pleasant thing nonetheless. Her almost fierce affection is addictive and you let this slide with that in mind. Besides it is patently absurd and shameful, and god dammit she doesn't even truly need to coax your bulge as a result. The dratted thing is no longer satisfied with merely peeking out of its sheath. No, instead it slides out far too enthusiastically and takes to rubbing miserably against her face. Porrim doesn't laugh however, and that gives you the strength to say, “Now that you are well acquainted with my bulge you will get to your work post haste. I do not have over much patience for your ilk.”  
  
“You don't want me to slowly ravish you in an almost worshipful fashion, Marquise? Will wonders never cease!”  
  
With a sigh you kick her sharply and rest your hand in her hair once more. Your fingers curl around her locks and her body tenses a tad. Good. “When and if I desire such from you I will command it. For the moment you can do as I so demanded unless you wish to end up as mulch for grubs, of course,” you say attempting to be as threatening as possible, “My crew does make a decent sum trading in bodies, alive or dead, so additional items for no cost are always welcome.” The threat isn't intimate enough you think, but in a way that makes it intimate. As does you pulling at her hair again, this time enough to elicit a small groan. She doesn't even take the time to comment on how she needs to help you with your dirty talk as she so often does. Not even mentally. Porrim simply does what she is supposed to, difficult as it is with no hands. In fact it proves so difficult that you huff in annoyance as you push her head back some. You grab your bulge, writhing in frustration as it is, and guide it to Porrim's mouth. She takes it eagerly, and silently, and she obediently meets its wriggling with her tongue.  
  
You think that, even if you did not relish the superiority you now wield over her, you'd still crave this. Porrim is shamefully skilled at oral sex and she takes an obscene amount of joy in it. Her bulge is growing to be painful to her, you learn from her thoughts, but there's not much she can do about it save spread her thighs a tad. You trace that impulse as it travels down to her legs, and you cling so very tightly to just how aroused she is. How she so very much needs to pleasure you. Turning that thought over in your mind, you moan lightly. You can feel her breath against your skin. It grows more and more desperate with want as time goes by. A moan of her own can be felt, and heard however muffled it is as she sucks at your bulge. Most enticing of all though is reading a sense of nigh absolute submission from her, along with her own pleasure at having bowed so.  
  
You curl your fingers tightly about her hair and you can't suppress a lurid buck of your hips against her. It is almost numbing in a way, and you, forget your original plans. The intention to draw this out and have it culminate in a rough fucking of her seems so unnecessary at the moment. You have her right where you want her, though you do not tell her this. You do not even let the small whine of her name that is building in your throat out. Exhaling deeply you stifle the shameful vocalization. Still you ache to say something as you lightly rut against her face. You must say something that will surely embarrass you terribly though you know it merely to be a show of how powerful you are compared to her. You ache to speak something and you give in. Why you even manage to ramble as you normally do: “For all your past grievances you seem quite content with performing your work, eager really. I am not sure what I should have expected from someone with your almost pitiable blood though. In all my time as a gamblingnat I have seen only a few who have proven to be other than what I know so many of your kind to be. It is simply within the nature of a wench to submit so, at least one of your hue. Shameful behavior for shameful blood.”  
  
Perhaps that was too rambly. Rambly enough that even you are blushing at it as Porrim stops in her work. It is fine though. You can recover. Grasping at threads you say, “I did not say you could stop, whorish tendencies revealed or not.” Porrim does not submit though and as you prepare to make her you catch something. It was only slowly building before, almost unnoticeable. Now, however, it has fully bloomed and you cannot ignore it: anger. She is upset and you only just recall why, yet you do nothing to apologize. You simply frown, mad at yourself for being so overcome to make such a blunder. Everything is ruined now!  
  
Which becomes ever the truer when she pulls herself away. She pulls back a bit too harshly and falls over. Normally you might giggle at that, but she is loudly declaring, “Troll Mozart, troll Mozart!” You stare as she pushes herself back up, still shouting, “God dammit Aranea, I said troll Mozart!”  
  
“I'm more than aware of what you said. Why you only repeated it three times and loud enough for everyone on the planet to hear,” you snap at her, far more harshly than you should have. You're just so frustrated though. So much so that you do not even apologize for that. No, you just smack your bulge away from your dress and read at her mind in a panic, searching for a way out of this.  
  
“Aranea I told you what I think about that kind of dismissively gendered talk,” Porrim started, frowning at you, “I laid this all out very clearly and you agreed to excise that one bit from your seagrifts.”  
  
Though you look you can't find a way out. All you can find is her annoyance at being tied up still. Unsure of what to do you look away and say, “Yes, I recall that and while I do agree with your sentiments don't you feel you are blowing a small problem far out of proportion?”  
  
She sighs heavily before saying, “Okay, I'm not even going to attack that because I'm pretty sure you can see where you messed up.” You open your mouth to say that, no, you're not quite sure and she needs to stop assuming such of you. Still, you stop and let her speak, “Don't you even start, Aranea. Now as I was going to say, I could just mark it off as a simple mistake IF you didn't make it twice. Especially after I stopped.”  
  
You turn back at her and glare. “You expect me to be able to puzzle out every last fleeting thought you have when we pail, Porrim? I hardly see how that can even be considered reasonable, whatever mistake I may have made. Which I admit to, but I must contend that it is simply that! A mistake!” you say firmly.  
  
“Urgh. No, I don't expect that, but I do expect you to have the presence of mind to use your probing to better judge at these things during such sex. And if you couldn’t tell I was upset or, at the least shocked, then I just don't know what to say to you.”  
  
“Again, you presume that I should be able to tell each of your thoughts apart during intimate moments. You have simply reworded your previous argument, Porrim.”  
  
“Can you at least get off your highhoofbeast long enough to apologize or is that expecting too much of the mind reader again?”  
  
You tremble in rage at that. She doesn't get how inconvenient your powers are. No one ever understands how unfair it is that everyone expects so much of you. They demand you know exactly what they are thinking, but also demand that you do not assume that it is true. They demand that you read their minds, and at other times deem it an irredeemable trespass on their privacy. None of them understand and they demand such conflicting nonsense from you all at once. You are through with explaining this to people who cannot even have the decency to actually think of you for a moment. So you don't apologize. No, you continue to argue: “Perhaps I would have been willing to had you not felt it appropriate to jump at me with all the fervor of Kankri when someone's triggers are supposedly tripped upon!”  
  
“Oh, so my throwing myself to the floor was too much? I insulted you with using our agreed upon safe word, is that it?” she says while straining her arms, trying to force the ropes apart. “And don't you bring Kanny into this, Aranea. I am NOT in the mood for that.”  
  
“Then what are you in the mood for, beyond being a petulant grub!” you shout, ignoring that grubs are another sore spot for her. Not that it really matters, seeing as she can't even respect yours.  
  
“How about I'm in the mood for you to actually untie me so I can leave?”  
  
That makes your heart drop. The thought of her leaving horrifies you to be honest. It has for a while now. You are just the creepy nerd that everyone thinks is too pushy after all. Porrim is just the woman who is open and fluid with her quadrants after all. Leaving you would just be the natural course of things. Scared you say, “Porrim we are not yet done speaking. Honestly, we can come to some manner of reconciliation if you just cease with your theatrics for one moment.”  
  
“And what about yours? Hell, you haven't even untied me even though you know that I want to be.”  
  
“How would I know what you want!”  
  
“Do we really have to explain this...”  
  
“Just because I can read minds doesn't mean I can always tell what you want! You talk all the time about how you have circumstantial desires that aren't true desires in the sense that they hold to the test of time, instead being small bursts of emotion. You say that I should be more willing to think things through in this regard and carefully analyze things. Now you are telling me that I should just understand them all the time as they appear, reacting to them immediately. I am not at all sure how you expect me to reconcile these two things when you cannot even explain to me what you actually mean! You just demand contradictory things of me all the time!”  
  
The room is eerily quiet now. Porrim refuses to speak and you find this frustrating. The silence is stifling and oppressive, only serving to remind you of just how much you've fucked up. Still you don't apologize. You simply stew in self loathing, trying desperately to justify your ego as much as you can. At last Porrim speaks, her tone even and still, “I expect you to know because we had a talk about how 'troll Mozart' is the sign to stop everything. 'Troll Sean Connery' is the word for mild discomfort and a talk before continuing. We decided this months ago and have been using them for a while now.”  
  
She's not glaring at you anymore. If anything she seems to be trying to keep her calm. Her mouth is still drawn out in a frown, but she no longer looks at you with unbridled fury. You can feel it though and it scares you still. She won't back down though. She keeps her anger firm and in place, not abandoning it just for your comfort. “Well. Yes, that is true isn't it,” you mumble miserably. You shuffle your feet and wring your hands. God you're so horribly ashamed.  
  
“Please just untie me, Aranea,” she says, voice still tempered. No amount of excuse making will make refusing to free her right. You walk over to her and undo the knots carefully, still terrified that she'll just leave and never return. When, really, this isn't your fault. Entirely. She exhales heavily and rubs at her wrists wordlessly while you sit, on edge still. She stands, towering over you and still so silent. Too silent. There are things you can both talk about, both need to talk about, but she's just going to leave. She does say, “I need some time alone, Aranea,” but that's it. Porrim just leaves, a conflict still far from resolved. Guilt crushes you and she's still so angry at you. She even has a thought about breaking up. While she tosses it aside as hasty, stupid even, that minor thought horrifies you. You are scared and you've ruined her mood and made yourself a fool.  
  
So you do the one merciful thing you can; you place a small seed of calm in her mind, for her sake. Porrim might ignore the tiny volition, but it's there just the same. It is all you can do till you can bring yourself to prepare a suitable apology. This is what you've been trained to do, though you never like to. A bit of you feels terrible for it, but you can talk about that later. Maybe. For now you put your underwear back on and head to your desk to vent. Everyone is thoroughly stupid and that calls for a journal entry. As you scrawl frenziedly, mangling your usually careful cursive, you try to reassure yourself that things will be fine. Just fine.  
  
Hours pass and you're still not entirely calm. A bit of you has wanted to leave your respiteblock to find her, but you've ignored that. Your apology isn't perfected and Porrim does deserve time to herself. There are spheres that are out of your control with her and, though that is painful to know now, typically you adore it. She's endlessly interesting and she's sincere when she says she cares. She deserves this time alone and it most certainly isn't your own cowardice that keeps you here. Porrim is sincere about all she does which is why when you hear a knock at your door your heart leaps in relief. You tell her to enter and she does, a small smile on her face. “It's really late, Ary. You sure you want to spend all night at your desk?”  
  
Normally you might snap at that, but you're just so glad she is here. Grateful that she didn't leave you. You turn to look down at your desk again and say, “I had intended to finish this book today, admittedly. It's quite the gripping tale and I've been meaning to finish it soon.”  
  
Porrim doesn't appear upset at your lack of an apology. She seems understanding if anything and you marvel at her patience, confused by it. “It's almost dawn, so how about this. We'll read it together tomorrow and you can tell me all about what happened before wherever you left off, okay?”  
  
You do need rest and you're certain you know what she is getting at. It's an appealing idea and you jump on it, figuratively. The book is marked and shut hastily, and you look at her, smiling as you can. “Oh, well that does sound like a nice way to spend tomorrow evening. Though we regrettably still have progress to make regarding saving our session.”  
  
“And all of that can wait till after we read, and the reading can wait till after we sleep, all right?” she says. You still stay put and she coaxes you yet further by saying “Besides what better punishment for being a huge brat than having to serve as my personal rectangular cuddling cushion for the day?”  
  
Her willingness to forgive is truly astounding, and it pushes you to your feet. Your smile widens and you say, “That does sound like a dreadful punishment, indeed. Unorthodox, however, which we'll have to talk about. Tradition has some merits after all.” You panic and add, “I'm sorry, that was far too soon.”  
  
She isn't fazed though. Porrim simply waves it off and soon you're undressed and sliding yourself into the comforting green slime. The two of you can talk about this all tomorrow, she says. Yes, you can talk about the fight and why and maybe even how you put a tiny suggestion of calm in her. About how that fills you with shame and guilt, though you feel it proved its worth in the end. That can wait for tomorrow night, however. For now she draws you into a tight hug as you submerge yourself fully. The sopor soothes you as does her nuzzling of you. Most calming though is how so very sincere she is. She is honest when so very few are, as you believe people should be. You let those feelings wash over you and you cling to them. Everything will be just fine. Porrim is still flushed for you.


End file.
